“That seems to be it for now. Anything else?”
“Yes. What are you going to wear?”
My laugh came easily at his dry tone. “Eric, Dee dresses me. That’s what she’s good at. We’re going shopping in Myrtle while we’re down there.”
A dramatic sigh. “Thank God. And your hair?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“How can someone be so intelligent and beautiful and clueless?”
That sounded an awful lot like an insult wrapped in a compliment.
Another sigh. “Tell me you have someone professionally styling your hair. You’re not coming to the event in that horrid ponytail you seem so fond of.”
My hand went to my head, lacing my fingers through my ponytail with a pout.
“Never mind. I’m sending you to Miranda again.”
“Okay.” One less thing I needed to worry about. Dee had been putting my hair up in one of those fancy twist things until last year when Eric and Edward had sent me to Miranda. Admittedly, it had looked wonderful. Not growing up with a mother around, I just wasn’t schooled in all things girly. It didn’t help that my two best friends had been boys.
“Now we’re done,” he said. “Call me when you get back from vacation and we can set up a walk through.”
I hung up and turned to the painting I’d just finished before Eric called. It was kinda crazy how fast it had come along. After I had gotten back from dinner with Ian last night, it had commanded all my attention. I should’ve been working on a piece for the show but, ever since the idea sprung, I couldn’t put it out of my head. So goes my muse. Couldn’t shut her up some days.
In the painting, Ian was leaning against the window seat in my bedroom, wearing his infamous faded jeans and nothing else. In one hand was a long neck bottle of beer, a hammer in the other. Behind him, out the window, instead of the two acres between our homes, I painted the beach at Seasmoke. The day was just breaking and, in the far distance, I was sitting on the beach, looking up at the window instead of the sunrise.
I grinned in satisfaction. It looked just like him when he was creating a furniture piece in his head, oblivious to the world around him. Not unlike me, I suppose, with my art.
Before this piece, I hadn’t completed a painting in two months. The canvases ready for the auction were older pieces. I had a series of half-started works and little to show for it. I paced the room. Too easily, I had given up on my recent painting, a scene of my river birches at night with the fireflies glowing. Even the painting of Main Street in Wylie stood unfinished. Normally, painting helped to sooth and lull my mind out of the darkness, kept me from slipping back into the void. But even that hadn’t worked lately. I felt restless, like at any moment I’d be right back to the empty shell who didn’t give a damn about anything.
God. I couldn’t do that to Ian again, to any of my friends. Or the kids.
The benefit was coming up soon. I needed more material. There were some amateur artists who donated pieces. My students had their work in the bidding, too. But my paintings always sold out, were the first to go. For the most amount of money, too. That’s what it was all about. Money for the kids.
Sitting down at my computer, I logged on again. I pulled up the two social media sites I had accounts for and answered my messages and posts. Not one to use the sites often, there were a lot. I had created them because Dee thought it would be a great idea to boost donations for my benefit and show off my paintings. In honesty, I seemed to get more date requests than anything else. Checking the account and website for the auction, I responded to those emails.
The caterer had emailed already. Approving the grilled salmon, almond green beans, and wild rice, I emailed back with the dessert request I’d discussed earlier with Eric.
Now what? It was too late to call Dee. Attempting to sleep would be futile. I’d just lie awake and stare at the
“Yes. What are you going to wear?”
My laugh came easily at his dry tone. “Eric, Dee dresses me. That’s what she’s good at. We’re going shopping in Myrtle while we’re down there.”
A dramatic sigh. “Thank God. And your hair?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“How can someone be so intelligent and beautiful and clueless?”
That sounded an awful lot like an insult wrapped in a compliment.
Another sigh. “Tell me you have someone professionally styling your hair. You’re not coming to the event in that horrid ponytail you seem so fond of.”
My hand went to my head, lacing my fingers through my ponytail with a pout.
“Never mind. I’m sending you to Miranda again.”
“Okay.” One less thing I needed to worry about. Dee had been putting my hair up in one of those fancy twist things until last year when Eric and Edward had sent me to Miranda. Admittedly, it had looked wonderful. Not growing up with a mother around, I just wasn’t schooled in all things girly. It didn’t help that my two best friends had been boys.
“Now we’re done,” he said. “Call me when you get back from vacation and we can set up a walk through.”
I hung up and turned to the painting I’d just finished before Eric called. It was kinda crazy how fast it had come along. After I had gotten back from dinner with Ian last night, it had commanded all my attention. I should’ve been working on a piece for the show but, ever since the idea sprung, I couldn’t put it out of my head. So goes my muse. Couldn’t shut her up some days.
In the painting, Ian was leaning against the window seat in my bedroom, wearing his infamous faded jeans and nothing else. In one hand was a long neck bottle of beer, a hammer in the other. Behind him, out the window, instead of the two acres between our homes, I painted the beach at Seasmoke. The day was just breaking and, in the far distance, I was sitting on the beach, looking up at the window instead of the sunrise.
I grinned in satisfaction. It looked just like him when he was creating a furniture piece in his head, oblivious to the world around him. Not unlike me, I suppose, with my art.
Before this piece, I hadn’t completed a painting in two months. The canvases ready for the auction were older pieces. I had a series of half-started works and little to show for it. I paced the room. Too easily, I had given up on my recent painting, a scene of my river birches at night with the fireflies glowing. Even the painting of Main Street in Wylie stood unfinished. Normally, painting helped to sooth and lull my mind out of the darkness, kept me from slipping back into the void. But even that hadn’t worked lately. I felt restless, like at any moment I’d be right back to the empty shell who didn’t give a damn about anything.
God. I couldn’t do that to Ian again, to any of my friends. Or the kids.
The benefit was coming up soon. I needed more material. There were some amateur artists who donated pieces. My students had their work in the bidding, too. But my paintings always sold out, were the first to go. For the most amount of money, too. That’s what it was all about. Money for the kids.
Sitting down at my computer, I logged on again. I pulled up the two social media sites I had accounts for and answered my messages and posts. Not one to use the sites often, there were a lot. I had created them because Dee thought it would be a great idea to boost donations for my benefit and show off my paintings. In honesty, I seemed to get more date requests than anything else. Checking the account and website for the auction, I responded to those emails.
The caterer had emailed already. Approving the grilled salmon, almond green beans, and wild rice, I emailed back with the dessert request I’d discussed earlier with Eric.
Now what? It was too late to call Dee. Attempting to sleep would be futile. I’d just lie awake and stare at the
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